


Lumi Westerlund and the School of Magic

by TheAsianBear



Series: The Adventures of Lumi Westerlund [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fantasy, Science Fiction & Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 02:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20900165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsianBear/pseuds/TheAsianBear
Summary: When she first comes to Hogwarts, Lumi Westerlund, a child celebrity in the wizarding world because of her relatives, has no idea what the future has in store for her. For the first time in her life, she's going to have to navigate perverted fourth-years, irritating poltergeists, and imposing teachers, all the while trying to create and maintain a new identity for herself.There's just one thing in her way: a really, really cute asshole named Draco who's been trash-talking her friends since day one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of people think that, because I'm rich and am related to some of the most iconic wizards of the day, I live a perfect life, but as I've detailed here, that isn't the case.

Every day, I would wake up to the sound of my mother’s familiar beating at my door.

“Get up, Lumi, you’ll be late for your lessons!” she would bark, and fearing what might happen if I didn’t obey immediately, I submissively rose out of bed and got dressed as quickly as I could. The sunlight barely poked through my window, because it was perhaps only an hour after dawn. I’d drag myself to the bathroom and brush my teeth monotonously while gazing at our spacious, green lawn. My family owned the entire area for acres, so I had a clear, unobstructed view of the sunrise as I combed my hair in the morning. No trees were there to block the orange and golden sun rays poking above the horizon, with its tangerine aura that penetrated a purple, still-starlit sky. 

I had always admired nature, with its effortless ability to paint ethereal beauty. I thought that humans could never create something so incredible to behold.

It was time, so I opened the windowsill to allow the doves to see me. They loved me, for some reason, and over the years I grew to remember their names and personalities and their distinctions from one another. I had to keep them quiet, however, so my mother wouldn’t realize that I was letting the “pesky birds” in our home. They never asked for food, but I’d always give it to them anyway.

One by one, the doves perched on my windowsill. One, who I named Vick, flew onto my shoulder. She was the most playful, bright one, who always took risks and was sometimes too trusting.

I opened the secret compartment of my gold-ringed bathroom cabinet to find my small packet of fresh sunflower seeds. I fed one to each of them, and they nipped my finger affectionately as their thanks. 

“How are you today, Zeus?” I inquired to the smallest dove, the one who wasn’t supposed to live, the one I’d nursed back to health on my own. He was the runt of the pack, but he was undoubtedly the fastest. Zeus chirped cheerfully in return.

“That’s delightful,” I said. “I’m glad that you’re -”

Suddenly, my door flung open, causing the doves to begin chirping in alarm. Vick zipped off my shoulder.

It was my mother.

“LUMI!” She rose her cane threateningly, in that terrifying yet familiar tone. I shrunk back in fear.

“I’m sorry, I -”

She wordlessly marched to the windowsill and closed it alarmingly fast. All the doves got away, except for Leo, the youngest one, who had gotten his tail stuck. He was flapping frantically, his feathers a mess, chirping in terror.

“Please, Mother, let me help -” She slapped me across the face, leaving a small red mark. I still couldn’t let Leo stay there, though. I inched closer to the windowsill and got it open, letting Leo free, just as my mother thrashed me with her cane. I cried out in pain, and tears ran down my cheeks. Fear paralysis took hold of my body, and I instinctively curled into a fetus position, expecting more blows.

“HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU THAT BIRDS  _ SHIT  _ ALL OVER OUR FLOOR?” I had no idea what she was talking about. Not once did any of my doves drop their baggage on our fancy marble tiles. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m -” She grabbed me by the collar, almost ripping my shirt, lifting me back up. 

“If I see any of that filth in our house again, I will beat the living daylights out of you,” she said, before promptly giving me her death stare and leaving the room.

She left me there in stunned, broken silence, sobbing only to myself, and hating myself as I stared into the mirror and realized how weak I was. 

* * *

_ A family of winners. _

I come from a family of winners, as my father likes to put it.

He isn’t wrong. The Westerlund family is undeniably a family of winners. Two of my cousins are on London’s National Quidditch Team, and they’ve made history. My father is a former professor at Ilvermorny, the American school for wizards, and he’s made worldwide tours about how to cast powerful spells in defense against the Dark Arts. My grandmother is still a supermodel for Witch Weekly and so is my mother. My grandfather, on the other hand, wrote a whole textbook used in hundreds of wizarding schools worldwide. My aunt and uncle are both prominent actors in both the wizard and Muggle world. And my niece, who is older than me, has literally discovered new spells and charms for the Ministry of Magic. I couldn’t go anywhere with them without being hounded by cameras.

Then there’s me, famous by association.

Granted, I’m only eleven, so I haven’t accomplished much yet, but compared to the rest of my family, that’s nothing. While I’m sitting here being featured on my aunt’s reality TV show and modeling for my grandmother’s agency, my cousins were playing for big-league Quidditch teams at my age. They had the biggest, greatest opportunities for their entire lives. I had to starve on whatever opportunities my family could give me because I don’t have many talents to date. In fact, my mother almost thought I was a Squib.

That’s where my tutor, Leonard Pike, comes in. He’s one of the most competent (retired) Aurors that the Ministry of Magic has ever had, and he’s technically not supposed to teach me magic (I’m too young), but my parents were so desperate for me to  _ become  _ something that they paid hundreds of Galleons per lesson and hundreds more to keep it hushed up. And every day, I learn something new. Today, we’re learning a few new charms.

“Have you reviewed your spells from yesterday?” he inquired, and I nodded. I had gotten a verbal tirade from my mother every time I messed up, so I became quite proficient in Episkey, Aguamenti, Alohomora, Lumos, and Nox. The rest of my hours from yesterday were spent practicing the spells from every previous day from that week and playing Quidditch with my frustratingly competent cousins, who were staying with us for a few weeks. 

When he saw my performance, Pike nodded in approval. “Very good. I didn’t expect you to master them in such short a time.” 

“Thank you,” I said.

“Today, I’m going to teach you two charms: the Bubble-Head Charm, and the Freezing Charm. Let’s begin…”

* * *

Halfway through, my wand broke. It does that a lot, and Pike says that it’s because it didn’t choose me and that my real wand would be waiting for me at Ollivander’s Wand Shop once I started school. 

“I remember when I first got my own wand,” he said in a gruff tone, smiling. We were on a lunch break. “It was quite magical.”

“I see,” I said, looking down at my tea. 

“It’ll be like that for you, too. You’ll feel it - a powerful light, enveloping you, almost divine. The wand chooses the wizard, not the other way around. You feel it already, the resistance of the wand.”

I nodded, and we got back to work.

* * *

And life went on, a routine sometimes interrupted by the unexpected arrivals of celebrity family members, of intellectuals and actors and singers and government officials coming into our mansion for tea. Whenever my mother permitted me to, I took walks through the rolling greenery. The trees seemed to, kindly, part their way for me. I would watch the branches of the weeping willow lift up a bit brighter whenever I dropped by to say hello. I took naps beside the rushing stream, caressed the slimy scales of the koi who gathered around the place I stood. I was at peace.

As I mastered the art of magic more efficiently, I felt my wand tug against me in resistance. It made my magic weaker, but I made up for it by practicing the spell or charm or jinx more proficiently, so that the effect would be the same as if I were to have a wand that fit my persona, rather than one that my parents randomly bought for 100 Galleons in an overpriced shop in Diagon Alley.

When my Hogwarts acceptance letter finally came, I had a frank chat with both of my parents (surprising, because my father is almost never home.)

“We expect only the best from you,” my father didn’t even make eye contact with me. He was busy reading the  _ Daily Prophet. _

“There’s no reason for you  _ not  _ to do well,” my mother added, in a threatening tone. “We spent so much money to bring you a tutor who would help you become what you were meant to be.” 

_ What I was meant to be.  _ How did they even know the answer to that? 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diagon Alley was much more than just a place to get my school supplies, much to my surprise.   
It was actually fun!

I felt surprisingly apathetic on the day that I was set to go to Diagon Alley to retrieve my school supplies. That was strange. This was the day meant to break the mundane routine that my life had become: sleep, eat, practice spells and charms. But I didn’t want to get up. Maybe it was because I knew my cousins were coming - meaning I’d be practically unable to pick out my things without getting stopped by hordes of fans - or maybe it was because I was getting a “makeover” by my annoying and overzealous beauty guru of an aunt. 

When I opened the windowsill, the doves didn’t come. They always came - I wondered why that was. Maybe they were in trouble? I rushed out of the house, making sure my mother didn’t notice, and into the forest where they made their home.

No one was there.

It was odd. No matter what the season was, there was always someone to greet me. Even the trees sat silent.

Curious and concerned, I pressed on. An ominous mist that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday enveloped the tree branches, and I could feel a shiver pass through my skin. I could sense the presence of something very, very bad.

I sucked in my breath, knowing that I wouldn’t get help, and took a few more tentative steps forward when I noticed something on the ground. 

The diadem was evanescent, so much so that I could hardly discern whether I was hallucinating or not. Shaped like a glimmering raven, it shined silver in the morning sun, and had a great aquamarine perched in the middle that was attached to two smaller gems dangling on a thin silver chain. The strange object was small, hard to notice, but it radiated such an overwhelming terror that it was all I could see. 

_ Come forth, child of Gaea,  _ a voice whispered from the shadows. I whirled around. There wasn’t a living soul, as far as I could see.

Almost again my will, I approached the diadem. It shimmered in and out of existence. I stretched my hand out and felt a phenomenally cold presence fill my veins. I didn’t feel like I was piloting my own body, and my vision filled with dark black dots that resembled snakes’ heads. It almost felt like I was invading someone else’s consciousness, and all I could see was the faint outline of a boy’s face. I noticed were his distinct spectacles before he left my hallucination.

I lost my balance and tripped onto the welcoming root of a tree. The tree wrapped around me, keeping me safe, and the mist disappeared. The diadem had disappeared from my palm, and I looked up to see the world bright and happy again, birds chirping, as if the past few minutes had never occurred.

* * *

Shaken up with fear, I returned to the manor and tried to pretend as if it had never happened. After all, I knew my mother would reprimand me for going back into the forest after she told me I could only do so with her permission. 

I got dressed in a personally chosen for me by a professional stylist: a red plaid skirt, unevenly draped over my legs, attached to an upper half shaped like overalls, which covered a warm black, tight, long-sleeved shirt underneath, along with red stockings with high-laced black boots. I covered my short, straight light blonde hair with a beanie in case it got cold at some point. And I couldn’t forget a flowing black robe as well as chic sunglasses to boot.

My cousin Alwi ruffled my hair playfully. She had strong, broad shoulders and a steady frame, unlike her brother Terrence, who was tall and lean. I took more after Terrence, though I did make sure to keep Alwi’s strict exercise regimen, which prevented me from looking like a stick.

“Looks like our little Lumi is finally gonna meet people!” Terrence laughed uproariously. 

“Can’t wait to see how you’ll turn out in life!” Alwi added giddily. 

“If she turns out to be anything, I’d be amazed,” my mother muttered while barking orders at our maid. My father followed suit, and we stood by our fireplace, the traditional spot for Apparition. I didn’t know how to do it yet, much to my mother’s dismay, so I had to hold Alwi’s hand.

“You ready?” She asked. I’d done it a hundred times, but she always asked that before we went. Apparition makes me nauseous sometimes.

I nodded.

“Alright then!” In a moment, we were off.

* * *

Diagon Alley always struck me with wonder, though I’d been here countless times. It was still warm, although it was towards the end of the summer, and people were bustling about since it was back-to-school shopping season. The cozy little shops lined up alongside a wide cobblestone road, exactly how I remembered it. Of course, we were spotted as soon as we had arrived.

“Look, it’s the Westerlunds!” someone exclaimed loudly. Loud chatter followed suit as the paparazzi almost instantaneously arrived at the spot. I was blinded by flashes of light as they snapped pictures and asked me questions about my personal life. I put on my sunglasses and coolly walked forward, posing for a few pictures for the press. They said they loved my outfit. 

“Lumi, when’s your photoshoot for  _ Witch Weekly _ ?” asked one young witch whose fast-paced footsteps strained to match mine. 

“Tomorrow,” I answered matter-of-factly. It was why I was going to my aunt’s beauty parlor to get a makeover. 

“Lumi!” another reporter ran up to me. “Is it true that you’re a Squib?”

I stopped abruptly, offended, and took off my glasses. “Why would I be a Squib if I’m here, right now, buying things for my first year at Hogwarts?”

I answered more questions and did more autographs until the press finally left us alone. We agreed to split up since I was the least famous one out of the rest of them, and I already knew where my aunt’s famous beauty parlor was. They preferred clothes shopping to shopping for someone else’s things, anyway.

I did get some requests for autographs, even with the beanie and the sunglasses hiding my violet-tinted eyes, but I was still able to make it there without much holdup. 

The parlor had been renovated since I went last year, and it was somehow more luxurious than I imagined. It was the kind of place that screamed “you can’t afford to be here!” Its marble tiles shined so that I could almost see myself in a hundred miniature reflections, and the golden pillars held up a titanic ceiling where ornate chandeliers climbed down from above. The mirrors in front of every seat were equally adorned with elegant patterns of dragons and unicorns and other beasts of the wizarding world, and the frames were bewitched so that the dragon slithered down the frame, as if alive. And the entire place was absolutely filled with people, who turned to see me and gossiped about me. More autographs. I recognized some of the biggest and richest families in wizarding London. 

My aunt greeted me enthusiastically.

“Lumi, my baby girl!” she first squeezed my cheeks and spoke to me in a blubbering manner that reminded me of when I spoke to my first puppy. We got to work right away, and I told her what I wanted (which was basically what my stylist wanted.) 

“Oh, that stylist of yours did a splendid job today!” my aunt giggled. “Risha, give me the camera, please!” Another flashing light that made my head spin.

For starters, she gave me another years’ supply of anti-body hair paste to bring with me to Hogwarts. I got a dose of her special eyelash growth potion, which instantly made my eyelashes attractively long, but not unnatural. 

“Now that’s more like it!” She said, satisfied, and then she got to work on my hair. After giving me heavy layers, she ordered her workers to perm my hair into a much straighter shape that still bounced and had inwards curls at the ends. I ended up with a gorgeous, stylish, modern wavy bob. 

“Beautiful!” she cackled. Then, she had some of her workers paint my fingernails in a colorful cherry blossom pattern, bewitched so that the blossoms swayed in the wind when I swished my fingernails or blew on them. 

The entire process took three and a half hours. It was past noon when I got up out of my chair, and my butt ached from sitting for such a long time.

“Anything else, dear?” My aunt batted her long eyelashes and looked at me curiously. I knew that my stylist wanted me to get made up before school started, but my butt was aching and I couldn’t bear to sit for another hour.

“No,” I said, nodding. “Thank you, Aunt Clare.”

“No worries, darling! Come anytime.” I knew I didn’t have to pay, because she was family, and I was glad that she had toned down her irritating tendencies because my family wasn’t around. She made sure to give me a long, suffocating bear hug, however, before I left the shop, feeling dazed and thankful that I was finally standing after such a long time.

* * *

Next was Ollivander’s. It was a small shop that was very rundown - apparently, it had been there since 382 BC - and when I went through the doors, no one else was there. I was surrounded by countless shelves of long boxes housing wands. I could hardly believe how Ollivander kept track of everything.

Suddenly, a man who I assumed was Ollivander approached me from behind the counter. He was a small man, old and short, hunched over and looming over me.

“Ah, Lumi Westerlund!” he gave me a small smile. “I was wondering when I’d finally meet you.”

We shook hands and he immediately began searching for a wand. “Mhm, yes… perhaps this one as well…”

It took him a long time before he finally picked one out.

“Why don’t you try this one,” he kindly handed me a long wand. It was engraved with multiple patterns of exquisite leaves, and the wood seemed like it was made from maple. I took it and waved it around a bit, but I must’ve looked like a food because absolutely nothing happened.

“That one dislikes you,” Ollivander said matter-of-factly. “Let’s try again, shall we?” 

I don’t know whether it was my rotten luck or my nuanced persona that caused us to spend almost an hour in the shop. More and more people arrived, and Ollivander’s dwarf workers helped them around, with their exceptional memories. People came and went, but I was still without a wand that didn’t hate my guts.

Finally, Ollivander pulled out a wand from the very bottom of the shelf. The box was gray and torn and looked extremely old.

“Interesting,” he mused, as if he knew something I didn’t know.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Try it, and I’ll tell you,” he said. I obeyed for perhaps the fortieth time that day, and from the moment I touched the wand, I felt energy coursing through my veins. It emitted a gorgeous musical note, a low hum that sounded like it was from a violin, and it emitted a light golden aura. I didn’t want to stop holding it.

“Incredible!” I exclaimed. It felt like I was floating on air.

“This is indeed very interesting,” Ollivander commented. “I must say, I wasn’t expecting you to fit that wand so well. It’s very picky.”

“Oh, yeah?” I looked at it. It seemed almost like a friend.

“Yes.” There was no one else in our aisle of the shelves. “It was a gift from a friend, Newt Scamander. Yes, I remember his expression. It was near and dear to him.”

“Why did he give it to you, then?” I inquired.

“Perhaps he believed another witch or wizard would come along who would be able to use the wand better than himself,” said Ollivander. “Regardless, its core came from the horn of a very special horned serpent. It was the last one in Western Europe before it went extinct in that region entirely.”

“You mean, completely eradicated?” I asked as we began walking back to the counter, so that I could pay for the wand.

“Correct,” he said in a didactic tone. “They still live on in great numbers in North America, but because of the rarity and difficulty of obtaining horned serpent horns, this one is the only one in my shop with this core.”

“Wow!” I felt special.

“Use it well,” Ollivander said as I dug into my pockets for the standard twenty-five Galleons. “It is picky, but also incredibly powerful. It may perform spells on its own without warning.”

I nodded. I had never felt so humbled by the little wand. 

We shook hands again before I left the little shop.

* * *

I reunited with my family in the Leaky Cauldron, where Alwi, Terrence, and my parents were having a lively discussion with the Malfoys. They were a famously pureblood, filthy rich family who’s had a long history with the Death Eaters, Voldemort’s followers during the First Wizarding War.

“Oh, Lumi!” Alwi gestured for me to join them as soon as I walked in. I took a seat next to her, straight across from Draco Malfoy, who was the son of the family. He had extremely light blonde hair, almost platinum, and was slightly attractive, as far as haughty rich white boys go.

“This is Draco,” Narcissa Malfoy, who I assumed was Draco’s mother, put her hand on her son’s shoulder. I nodded curtly and politely.

“He’s going to Hogwarts the same year as you,” Terrence added. 

“Hello, I’m Lumi,” I said, stretching my hand out to him. He shook it. 

My father and Malfoy’s father were having a debate about whether Muggle-borns should be allowed into Hogwarts.

“It doesn’t make a difference,” said my dad. “You wouldn’t even be able to tell someone’s lineage unless they told you they were Muggle-born.”

“That is true, but studies have been done proving that pure-bloods are far more capable in magic that are Muggle-borns,” said Lucius Malfoy. “And we’re doing the Muggle-borns a favor, by not immersing them in this scary wizarding world when they’ve grown up in the comfort of their Muggle homes all their lives. Imagine how much of a shock it must be to the children when they get their acceptance letters!” 

And so they went back and forth with a boring conversation that I didn’t give a damn about, and I sat there listening to Alwi’s, Terrence’s, Narcissa’s, and my mother’s more interesting conversation about Lord Voldemort’s rise.

“He’s an exceptionally powerful Dark wizard at that,” Narcissa said. “He’s almost immortal. I really do believe that the Potter boy must have some powerful Dark blood if he were able to deflect that curse.”

Suddenly, Draco turned to me and asked, “What house do you reckon you’ll get in Hogwarts?”

I thought about that. Most of my family members got Slytherin, but then again, I wasn’t very much like most of my family members. Plus, Alwi and Terrence both got Gryffindor. 

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Slytherin or Gryffindor, maybe.”

“Well, it better be Slytherin. I’m certain I’ll get placed in it. Not a single person in my family who wasn’t in Slytherin,” Draco said. 

“That’s interesting,” I said. 

“What’s more, I heard that Harry Potter is in our year,” Draco added. My ears perked up. Finally, something interesting! 

“Really?” I asked. “Well, now that I think about it, it does make sense. He’s the same age as us.”

Draco nodded. “It’s true. I think I saw him wandering around with that giant oaf Hagrid.”

“Mm. I haven’t seen anyone like that so far.”

“Well, my father says I’ve got to make friends with him,” Draco continued, a worried look on his face. The same look on my face when my mother told me I  _ had  _ to do something, or else. 

“You’ve  _ got  _ to?” I questioned, seeing a different Draco under his smug facade.

* * *

The next hour was pretty enjoyable, to be honest, because I bonded with him over so many things. Over the common struggle of having parents who expected us to be something (I made sure they didn’t hear, but they were so engrossed in their own conversations that they didn’t bother to listen). Over our enjoyment in Quidditch. Our common hatred for green beans. It turned out that he loved dogs as much as I did, and even in the things we didn’t share, we were able to talk about freely about, with the other completely listening. 

We had only known each other for an hour, but I felt like old friends with him. We had clicked, connected well. I was happy with that.

Alwi later noticed, too. 

“Hey, you seemed to connect pretty well with Draco!” she said while we were out buying textbooks. 

“Yeah,” I said. “We had a lot in common.”

“That’s good.” She leaned in closer to me, as if to tell me a secret. “Your mother kinda needs to make a business deal with the Malfoys.”

I laughed, too uncomfortable to say anything confrontational.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hogwarts Express was basically a repeating reminder of how I'm supposed to be famous.

I came to Platform 9¾ alone on the first day. 

My mother was out on a conference, while my father was on a three-week-long lecture tour across America. Alwi and Terrence had a “super important” practice to go to, and every other family member was either across the country (or the globe, for that matter) or had a previous arrangement.

I knew how to get there, but I couldn’t help but feel intimidated by the sheer enormity of King’s Cross Station in London. I rarely went to Muggle travel stations (we usually just Apparated), but I had to give them credit for the wide, concave glass ceiling and their impossibly long trains. As soon as I got to the pillars between platforms 9 and 10, I ran through and made it to the other side.

Platform 9¾ had maroon red, circular brick walls and long tracks that housed a large red Hogwarts express train. Kids were piling on already, saying goodbye to their parents, carrying their heavy trunks onto the train. I did the same. I had so much stuff on me that I wished I had a third arm. I occasionally had to stop to take photos or autographs with other people while eyeing the windows to see if there was an empty compartment. It made it incredibly hard. Usually, I’d have someone carry my things up for me.

“Urgh,” I lifted my trunk up to climb the stairs when an unfamiliar voice behind me asked, “Do you need help?”

A brown-haired boy with big black spectacles and a strange lightning-shaped scar on his forehead was trying to climb the stairs behind me. I thought maybe I’d taken too long.

I went pink, not used to the idea of people asking if I needed help with things. “Oh no! I’m fine, thank you.” I hoisted the rest of my luggage up the compartment and kept my head down so that I could just catch a break without getting hounded by fans. I promptly closed the door until the boy from just a few minutes earlier came in.

“Erm… is it okay if I sit here?” he asked. “Everywhere else seems to be empty.”

“Yes, of course,” I said courteously. I cleared my stuff so that he could take a seat, and I helped him put his luggage on the top shelf. 

“What’s your name, by the way?” I asked, taking a seat. 

“Harry,” he replied. “Harry Potter.”

Oh, so he was the famous “Boy Who Lived.”

“I’m Lumi. Lumi Westerlund.” I made sure not to ask him any questions about his fame in the wizarding world. I didn’t want to seem imposing.

“Hey, Lumi.”

There was a bit of uncomfortable silence, then I asked, “How are you liking life as a wizard so far?” I knew that he had been raised by a Muggle family.

“It’s… strange, to say the least,” he grinned a little. “It’s so different from the, you know, Muggle world. I’m not even used to saying the word ‘Muggle.’”

“You’ll get used to it,” I said kindly. “You’d hardly believe how many Hogwarts students come from Muggle families.”

“I hope so,” Harry said. 

In the midst of our light chatter I noticed that people occasionally stared at us through the compartment window. As the afternoon went by, more and more people piled up and were inching to get a look at us both. They came and went, discouraged by the locked door that prevented them from being able to come inside and intrude. The aisle by our door became more and more packed by the hour.

“There are so many people outside our door,” Harry noted at one point.

“That’s because you’re here,” I said. “You must know that everyone in the wizarding world already knows your name.”

“Well, even when I was going around Diagon Alley, I didn’t see this many people crowding around  _ me. _ Are you a celebrity or something?”

“Well, we’re moderately famous, I suppose.”

The door burst open - someone had opened the lock using the  _ Alohomora  _ spell, I guess. An older student came into our compartment. She was tall, blonde, and very pretty. She seemed like a stereotypical valley girl.

“ _ Lumi Westerlund  _ and  _ Harry Potter! _ ” she squealed and whipped out a  _ Witch Weekly _ that featured me on the front cover. I remember when I took that picture. I was horribly sick, but of course the image was enchanted so that the symptoms of the flu were completely gone from my complexion. I saw myself twirling my hair in a sassy fashion through the cover. It was a very strange experience. “I would be so, so, so happy if you could sign this!”

I did her bidding, half laughing, signing my name on the cover. She then shook Harry’s hand, saying it was an honor to meet him. She seemed like she was hyperventilating because she was in the same room as us. 

“Thank you sososososososo much,” she could hardly breathe. “Oh my god, I love you both. Thank you!”

“Y-you’re welcome,” Harry said, stunned. She vigorously shook his hand before she choked back tears and ran out of the room, clutching the magazine in her arms.

“You’ll get used to it,” I conjured a tea cup out of thin air. “Tea?”

“Um, no thanks.”

Raspberry tea sprouted out of the tip of my wind and into the cup. Wordlessly, I reached into my pocket and took out a packet of sugar, pouring it in. I took a sip. It was good. Harry looked on openmouthed, then looked away. We had to deal with a couple more people asking for things, and it seemed like we were finally at peace for a little less than a half hour.

Suddenly, the compartment door slid open. A red haired boy with freckles and a scrawny figure entered our compartment. He stopped and his jaw dropped.

“W-wait!” He stared at me. “Lumi Westerlund?”

Then he turned to Harry. “And is it true that you’re Harry Potter?”

Harry and I nodded at the same time. 

“Blimey!” He was about to take a seat, then hesitated. 

“You can sit,” I said.

His expression turned to that of relief. He set his luggage down wherever there were free spots left, and sat in the comfortable velvet, cushioned seat next to me. 

“I’m Ron, by the way,” the boy said to me. I’d heard of his family. They were another big family with tons of kids. They weren’t the most well-off, but my father and the Weasleys’ father were classmates at Hogwarts. My father had never spoken ill of them.

“Ron Weasley?” I questioned, shaking his hand. “Our fathers knew each other at Hogwarts.”

His eyes lit up. “Really? Wow!”

I nodded, smiling. 

The three of us had really hit if off the entire time. It wasn’t the same connection I felt with Draco, but I found it immensely fun to talk with them about all of our different types of lives. Harry had never seen a moving picture before when he saw that girl’s copy of  _ Witch Weekly _ , and Ron had never known the joys of having his own possessions. At some point, the door opened again and a stern-faced, stout woman poked her head through the door. She was carrying a trolley filled with sweets.

“Would you like any?” She asked sweetly. Ron looked tempted, but he said that he didn’t have much money. On the other hand, Harry was new to the candies of the wizarding world, so he wanted to try it all.

“We’ll take the lot!” I declared, taking out a handful of Galleons. The lady unloaded a large amount of candy that we definitely would not be able to finish, and handed it to us before moving on.

“This is definitely my favorite,” Harry said the minute he bit into his first sweet. I chuckled. 

“You clearly haven’t tried Cauldron Cakes yet,” I said, laughing. I handed him one. 

“How often do you eat Cauldron Cakes?” Ron asked in mock jealousy. “They’re so  _ expensive _ !” 

“Often enough,” I said, handing him three. He looked at me, wide-eyed. “There’s a reason they cost so much.”

I had converted Harry and Ron into Cauldron Cake fans by the end of the third hour, and we were only halfway to Hogwarts at this point.

“God, I’m full,” Harry mumbled, slumped over to the side. He looked entirely satisfied. I wasn’t allowed to have too many sweets, or my stylist might kill me, but I was full of sugar too. The same with Ron.

“I’m gonna have no bloody space for the feast when we get there,” Ron said, satiated. 

“We should give the rest away to the next person who comes into the compartment,” I said. 

“Good idea,” they said at the same time.

Then there was a period of comfortable silence, with Ron reading his Chocolate Frog card and Harry sleeping on the seat and me sitting there, wide awake and thinking about what my new life would be like. If I had Harry and Ron by my side, it seemed like it’d be OK.

All of a sudden, a short girl with messy, mousy brown hair and a long nose opened the door. What was it with people being unable to knock?

“Have you guys seen a toad anywhere?” she asked in a bossy tone. “Neville’s lost his, and he can’t find it anywhere.”

“No,” said Ron, who looked up at her in annoyance. “We haven’t seen it.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” she said. “I’m Hermione Granger, by the way. Who’re you?”

“Ron Weasley,” Ron muttered. 

“I’m Lumi Westerlund,” I said.

“Harry Potter,” said Harry.

“Oh, I’ve heard about you two,” Hermione looked at me and Harry. “Harry’s in  _ Modern Magical History  _ and  _ The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _ and  _ Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. _ And Lumi’s in  _ The Modern Wizarding World  _ and, of course, a few copies of  _ Witch Weekly  _ that Susanna Melbourne showed me.” She said all this very fast, and I could see Ron rolling his eyes in my peripheral vision.

I wondered if Susanna was the blonde girl who had invaded our compartment earlier.

When no one said anything, Hermione continued, “I’ve memorized all of our course books by heart. I come from a family of non-wizarding folk, so naturally, I wanted to know everything I could - it was quite a shock, you know, when we first found out. Anyway, I can’t be dilly dallying. I’ll be off to find Neville’s toad.” 

And then she left, as quickly as she had come.

“That was weird,” I said. 

“Did  _ you  _ guys memorize the course books?” Ron asked. We shook our head no, making him feel the slightest bit better.

* * *

I was so bored that I began studying the spells I’d learned over the summer in my small book, whose pages were filled with the knowledge I amassed from being homeschooled for my entire life up to now. I had inevitably forgotten some of them, but they were all so embossed into my brain that they would eventually come back to me. Ron had adorably fallen asleep on my shoulder, and I made sure not to wake him.

_ Accio. Used to summon objects from long distances. _

_ Obliviate. Used to erase memories. _

_ Crucio. Used to torture the victim in excruciating ways. Naturally, an Unforgivable. _

My tutor handled Unforgivable curses very heavily, mentioning the effects that their uses have on the “soul.” Of course, it was crucial to know about them - for how could we defend against something we don’t know about? - but he made sure that I vowed never to actually cast an Unforgivable Curse. It is damaging to the soul, he always said. If your soul becomes damaged beyond repair, you will be unable to move on to the afterlife.

“Is that real?” I’d asked.

“It is just a theory, but I have done countless studies on such topics,” he replied. “In all my years, I have not found a better explanation.”

He said that there was only one counter to the Unforgivable Curses.

“I thought there was no counter,” my small eight-year-old self said.

“It is a counter that has only recently been made known,” he said. “And it is extremely difficult to achieve. It is the Alleviate charm, and it may also be used to heal severe injuries.”

He was unable to do the spell in front of me. He said he had never been able to accomplish it.

“But Mr. Pike, haven’t you trained all these years against people who use Unforgivable Curses?”

“Yes, but this spell is unique. It is unique in that it requires an exceptional amount of love from the caster. That is the only way it can be achieved.  _ And  _ it cannot be used to save oneself. Only to save others.”

* * *

All my life, I have never been able to do the Alleviate spell. I suppose I haven’t really been loved, not really. I didn’t know what love felt like - maybe I had felt it at some point and just didn’t realize it was love. At any rate, I knew I was doing the movement and enunciation of the spell correctly. I just didn’t have enough love in my heart, or whatever. 

Ron snored lightly in his sleep, and I looked down to see his small face sleeping on my shoulder. I laughed a little. I was entering a whole new world with whole new people and whole new emotions. Maybe, just maybe, I would learn to love.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Hogwarts won't be as boring as I expected it to be.

It was nighttime when we reached Hogwarts.

Ron stirred lightly on my shoulder before his eyes flitted open. Then he saw where his head had fallen, and he got up in a split second, face scarlet with embarrassment.

“Ohmygodsorry,” he muttered, looking down at the floor. I laughed.

“Don’t be sorry,” I said. “I guess my shoulder is a good headrest.”

“Guys, look!” Harry craned his neck over the window. The train was passing over a large lake - we could see a titanic castle even bigger than my aunt’s mansion across the water - and the full moon shone through the misty clouds. The night was slightly foggy, giving an ominous but equally spectacular view over the lake.

“Wow,” said Ron. In a short time, the train skidded to a stop. Students began loading out of the express.

A giant man with a rather long and unkempt beard, but who had a friendly expression, shouted out heartily, “Firs’ years, firs’ years! Firs’ years follow me!” 

A large crowd of first-year students amassed behind the man, who Harry told me was named Hagrid. I recalled what Draco said about him being around Harry in Diagon Alley. I supposed Hagrid was the one who’d taken him there. At any rate, he was cool in my book.

We all followed Hagrid through a long, stepped, and narrow path, which led to a dock on the great black lake we saw earlier. There were small rowboats, which seated four people each, waiting for us. 

“No more n’ four to one boat,” Hagrid said loudly, as he climbed in one himself, taking up all four seats. As soon as we were seated, the boats began moving. I didn’t notice the tall stranger who had sat himself in my, Harry, and Ron’s boat.

“Hey,” whispered the stranger. He was older, and he had dark black hair and a tanned complexion. He turned to me. “Lumi, right?”

“Um, yeah,” I said, slightly uncomfortable. He was leaning closer to me than I would’ve liked.

“You’re cuter in real life than in the magazines.”

Whaaaaaaaaaat.

“Uh, thanks?” I said, not knowing what else I could say. I’d had my fair share of creepy fans, but definitely not in a boat going to Hogwarts. As the seconds, which felt like years, progressed, I felt myself leaning further and further away from him, towards the edge of the boat. I didn’t want it to capsize, but I also didn’t want to give the dude the wrong message.

“I’m Liam,” he said, shaking my hand for a little too long. “Liam Bryceworth. I’m about to be a third year in Hogwarts. I’m a Slytherin.”

“Excuse me, but aren’t you not supposed to be here?” Ron said, as politely as one could ask that question.

“Technically, you’re right,” Liam said slyly, sitting back in the boat. “But if they don’t notice, it won’t make a difference, right?”

Harry and Ron looked horrified as the third-year relaxed in his seat, looking perfectly smug.

I was forced to sign his hand and take a picture with him; it was taken by a very reluctant but I-don’t-want-to-get-into-trouble-with-a-third-year Harry. I was relieved that the boat ride was relatively short.

Liam stuck to me like a bug on my side all the way to the front gates of Hogwarts. He kept trying to talk to me and gave me an unhealthy amount of compliments. I stuck close to Harry, but he didn’t seem to get the hint. Finally, when we entered the school and Hagrid turned us over to a stern, tall professor named McGonagall, Liam slunk away, trying to disguise into the crowd. Fortunately, it didn’t work.

“Mr. Bryceworth, what on God’s earth are you doing with the first years?” she asked in an appalled tone. She walked over to him. He went pink.

“Professor McGonagall, I-I-got lost,” he stuttered. 

She walked over to him and pulled him to the side. That smug expression of his was wiped clean from his face. I turned away, laughing, only to see that Draco and Harry were having a standoff. They both looked at each other with the most contemptuous expressions. Ron was glaring at Draco too.

“Um, Harry? Ron? Draco? What’s going on?” I asked, concerned. I didn’t want my friends to hate each other on the first day, but it seemed like it was too late for that.

“Nothing, just teaching them basic manners,” Draco said high-uppishly, then he walked away. He had two boys on either side of him, who almost seemed like bodyguards.

I turned to Harry.  _ What was that? _

_ He was being incredibly rude, _ I could hear Harry’s voice, but his mouth wasn’t moving.

Whaaaaaaaaaaat.

_ Did you just - _

_ Talk? _

Harry and I were making weird facial expressions at each other, like we were talking but not really talking, which worried Ron. 

“Ummm… are you guys okay?” he asked.

“I-I-I can hear Harry’s voice inside my head,” I said, shaken up. Never in my studies had I encountered something so strange. Sure, I’d heard of Legilimency, which was going inside someone’s head to see their memories and such, but never had I directly, telepathically, conversed with someone. Or heard of such a thing.

“And I can hear Lumi’s voice inside my mind,” Harry said.

Ron made a sour expression. “Are you guys messing with me or something?”

All of a sudden, McGonagall stepped up in front of us, apparently having dealt with Liam. “Now that our affairs are finally in order, please follow me into the Great Hall, where you will be sorted into one of four Houses: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Slytherin.

“Your house will be your family here at Hogwarts. Likewise, I expect you all to take the House Cup seriously. It will be won only if you win points for your House, by doing good deeds and excelling in your classes. Whichever House amasses the greatest number of points wins the Cup.”

I had seen the Great Hall in pictures, but no image could capture the entire splendor of the Hogwarts Great Hall. It put my family’s largest and most luxurious room to shame. Countless animated paintings lined the walls, framed in intricate golden patterns, and very long tables were lined up, filled with what seemed to be thousands of students engaged in an incredibly loud chatter. The ceiling was bewitched to look like the sky - I wanted to learn the spell for  _ that  _ \- and slightly below, hundreds of candles floated midair, almost as if they were fiery balloons stopped on their flight to the sky. At the very front of the hall was a large table where teachers were seated, and at the center of the table sat no one other than Albus Dumbledore himself, the most powerful wizard on the planet, with his iconic wizened, eccentric face, exceptionally long white beard and hair, and half-moon glasses. 

In front of Dumbledore sat a hat on a stool. It was black and torn and seemed like it was kept in someone’s closet for four hundred years. I knew it to be the Sorting Hat, of course.

We first-years filed into the Great Hall in a straight line, following Professor McGonagall, who ordered the student in front to stop as she made her way next to the stool where the Sorting Hat sat. When the hall quieted down, the Hat jumped to life, and of all things, began to sing.

Everyone broke into uproarious applause at this, and I did too. Ron turned to Harry behind me and said, “So we’ve just got to try on the cap! Curse Fred and George, told me somethin’ about fighting a troll.” I laughed.

“You never know,” I said. Ron rolled his eyes, and Harry snickered.

“First years, when I call your name,” McGonagall said, “You will sit on the stool to be sorted. Hannah Abbott!” 

Beyond a doubt, the Sorting Hat shouted, “HUFFLEPUFF!”

And so it went on. I was going to be the last to get called because of my last name, which was bad because it left me plenty of time to overthink. I knew that the house I’d get sorted in would be my Hogwarts family. I didn’t want to surround myself with people I hated - I knew that Gryffindor preferred the brave, Hufflepuff the kind, Ravenclaw the bright, and Slytherin the cunning. I didn’t know if I really fit into any of those categories. But when I saw both Harry and Ron be sorted into Gryffindor, I really wanted to be in it.

Finally, the professor paused right after Ron’s name, and said, in a loud tone, “Lumi Westerlund!”

Everyone in the Hall got out of their seats to get a better look at me. I could hear some of the things they were saying.

“Is it really her? She looks gorgeous.”

“The heir of the Westerlund family?”

“She looks  _ so pretty! _ ”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m going to school at the same time as a Westerlund.”

“Did you see her on the train? She was in the same compartment as Harry Potter. I got an autograph.”

I gave a weak smile and swallowed my fear. I must’ve looked overly anxious, though, because Professor McGonagall gave me a reassuring shoulder squeeze and said, “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Thank you,” I muttered before I took a seat at the stool and the Sorting Hat was placed on my head.

“Ah yes,” said the Hat, speaking inside my head. “Many a Westerlund has passed under me. They all turned out exceptional, no matter their House. You are different, however… you desire to make your parents proud, yet you wish to forge your own path, two irreconcilable things. I imagine it must have taken a considerable amount of cunning to make your way through the snake’s nest.”

That was a colloquial term used to describe the Westerlund family. It originated from a reality show about us, but I mean, it isn’t far off the truth.

“You show kindness and passion to other living creatures. You are smart, resourceful, but you thirst for something more…”

_ Gryffindor, please Gryffindor, _ I prayed silently to myself.

“You wish for Gryffindor? If you please… GRYFFINDOR IT IS!”

The Gryffindor table went wild. People began shooting sparks from their wands in celebration. The other Houses didn’t look too pleased, but I was sure they would be OK with it when they saw how horribly mediocre I was. I was greeted with extreme enthusiasm from at least ten people who crowded around me, wanted to shake my hand, grasp my arm, even just touch me for a moment, screaming into my ears. This went on for at least a few minutes until Dumbledore used a Sonorous Charm to amplify his voice to echo across the hall: “SILENCE!”

Everyone sat back down and was quiet in a matter of seconds.

The rest of the Sorting went nicely, and I was seated next to my two new friends. I was introduced to the Gryffindor Prefect, Percy, who was also Ron’s brother. Ron and I had a hell of a time explaining Quidditch to Harry, and I met Fred and George, also Ron’s brothers, who were perhaps some of the funniest people I’d ever met. A bunch of kids stepped up to introduce themselves to me, but there were so many that I would only remember Ron’s sibling’s names. When the food finally appeared on the plates, I stared at it ravenously, despite all the candy I had eaten just a few hours prior. 

Neville Longbottom was talking about how his grandmother thought he was a Squib - “I can relate,” I said - and Hermione and Percy went on and on about classes. In the midst of our conversation with Ron, Harry looked up and I felt a searing pain on my forehead. 

Nothing was there to trigger it.

Coincidentally, Harry also felt a searing pain on his scar, as he reported so abruptly through our telepathic communication line: 

_ Ouch! _

_ Are you okay? _

_ Yeah, it’s nothing… _

I caught Harry staring at one of the professors seated by the teacher’s table. He had medium-length black hair and a very scary, dark looking face.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I don’t know, I just saw that professor next to Quirrell, and my scar started aching,” he said. He was eyeing the professor for a very long time before he finally turned his attention away from him. I assumed Quirrell was the one that the professor was talking to, a man with a large purple turban and a meek expression.

“Oh, that’s Professor Snape,” Percy said. “He’s the Potions teacher. Everyone knows he’s after Quirrell’s job, though. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape.”

All the while, I was wondering about how I had felt that pain at the exact same moment that Harry was feeling it. Were we inextricably linked, Harry and I? If so, how? 

How was I able to be so finely-tuned with someone that I was able to feel their pain and hear their mental voice?

* * *

When all of us students were full and feeling quite groggy (food coma, maybe), Dumbledore got up to close the night. 

“I would like to remind all students that the forest in the school grounds is completely off-limits,” he said. His eyes lingering a bit long in the direction of Fred and George, who had guilty expressions on their faces.

“Secondly, Mister Filch, our janitor, would like to state that no students may use magic between classrooms, and that the curfew is sharply 9 o’clock at night.”

“Thirdly, Quidditch tryouts are occurring during the second week of the term. Please contact Madam Hooch if you are interested.”

“And finally, I would like to say that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of  bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

Harry laughed, but I didn’t hear much laughter around the room. Maybe he was being serious.

Dumbledore kindly smiled at everyone. “Now, off you go to bed! I imagine you are all very exhausted by the journey here.”

Percy collected all the first years to lead us to the Gryffindor Common Room, where he said we’d find our dormitories. I was wide awake and alert, since I made sure not to eat too much (or, like I said, my stylist would kill me), whereas Harry and Ron were basically dragging their feet up the countless stairs and tapestries we had to pass through. I couldn’t imagine how they’d memorize the staircase movement patterns or the winding steps if they were this unable to pay attention now. 

Suddenly, we all came to a halt when Percy paused in front of a very large portrait depicting a very large, but beautiful, woman. 

“Password?” she asked.

“Caput draconis,” Percy said. The portrait swung open to reveal a large room that I couldn’t see much of, because so many heads were blocking my view. As we walked in, I could see more and more of the interior - no wonder so many Gryffindors were gawking at it.

“This is the Gryffindor common room!” It was a gigantic room, bigger than my living room, filled with cozy-looking chairs and a giant fireplace in the middle. Percy showed us the way to each of our dormitories - we would be sharing them with four other people our age, but sadly, I wouldn’t be able to be with Harry and Ron, because the dorms were divided by gender.

I was sharing my room with three other girls, who I would discover were named Irina Spatsky, Lavender Brown, and Parvati Patil. They were cool too, and we took lots of pictures with Lavender’s Polaroid. She had come from a Muggle family and so, her pictures weren’t moving, but I thought we all looked nice.

Of course, they had no shortage of questions for me about my life and status as a Westerlund.

“Are you trying out for the Quidditch team, since two of your cousins are on the national team?” Irina questioned, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Probably,” I said, lying down in bed. I was getting a bit tired. “They did teach me some very useful techniques, and I’ve practiced a lot since I was, like, eight.”

“Wow!” They all said in unison, before complimenting my pajamas. It was all my stylist.

When we all finally decided to sleep, it was way past 10 o’clock. Crap. I’d have to get up at 8 the next morning. 

* * *

I dreamed that I was watching Harry try in vain to pull off the same large purple turban that Professor Quirrell wore at the feast. Except it kept talking to him, saying that he must transfer to Slytherin because it was his destiny. When Harry fought off the turban, saying that he didn’t want to be in Slytherin, the turban got heavier and heavier so that Harry couldn’t take it off, and then Draco appeared, laughing it him. I tried to help Harry, tried to reason with Draco, but nothing worked. It was as if I were invisible.

“Please, stop,” I begged, but they couldn’t hear me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I said that maybe Hogwarts would exceed my expectations on last chapter's summary, I jinxed myself. It definitely exceeded my expectations, but not in the way that I ever expected (or wanted, for that matter) would happen.
> 
> Oh yeah, and friend drama is the worst.

The changing staircases and the confusing doors and walls at Hogwarts were so complex that I was late to all of my classes the second day, and I got off on a bad start with almost all of my teachers except Quirrell, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Flitwick, Charms, because of my experience in both subjects. I was experienced in Transfiguration, too, and I recognized Professor McGonagall, who taught the class, but she was too strict for me to redeem myself when I successfully turning my match into a needle the first try.

My favorite class after Herbology, even though it wasn’t something I was experienced in at all, was Astronomy, where we went up to the highest tower of Hogwarts at midnight and studied the stars and planetary movements. The other students didn’t enjoy it much (especially Harry, who was always tired when he came to class) but I loved seeing the lights in the sky and their significance in our earthly world. It reminded me of the magnificent sunset I saw everyday at home.

Obviously, Herbology tickled my love of nature and natural things, and I was proficient in those even though my mother never thought it was very important for me to learn them. I tried to see every being I was dealing with exactly as it was: life, just like myself, who wanted to thrive and live and be treated kindly. I was never impatient with the screaming mandrakes or hateful Devil’s Snares (who, if you show them the smallest bit of compassion, will open up to you - it’s really quite sad). 

My least favorite class was History of Magic. It wasn’t that it was hard (how hard can it be to memorize things?) but it was simply the most boring class I’d ever taken. It was taught by Professor Binns, who was a ghost, and who droned on and on about Uric the Oddball and Emeric the Evil and such. I only succeeded in the class by excessively studying our textbook.

The only classes I had with Ron and Harry were Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, and Potions. They both seemed to be dismal at Potions. Because I was late and we were only able to form pairs, I was happy to have Draco as my partner right from the first day, even though Harry and Ron seemed to hate him.

Unfortunately, I had that girl Hermione Granger in my Potions class as well, and she was able to overshadow all of us when it came to answering Professor Snape’s questions. 

One thing I noticed when I first entered the classroom was how evilly Snape looked at Harry. He definitely hated him right off the bat, and I couldn’t understand why.

First, Snape drilled Harry with questions that were only answerable for someone who had memorized the entire textbook by heart (surprise, surprise, Hermione was at the edge of her seat to answer the question.) I gave a silent groan when Harry’s “cheek” cost us one House Point.

When Snape went around assessing all of our cauldrons, he had spoken ill of everyone’s except my and Draco’s. 

“Very good, both of you,” he said, before moving on. 

I gave myself a silent sigh of relief that Draco was so good at Potions. Either that, or Snape just liked him. Either way, I would get better marks because of that, so I was thankful.

“Sucks you couldn’t get into Slytherin,” Draco said, wearing a sneer similar to that of his father.

“Wasn’t expecting to,” I replied. “Plus, I think Gryffindor’s been cool so far.”

There was a silence as he stared into our already-completed potion. There was a bruise on his hand that I hadn’t noticed before.

“Hey, you okay?” I asked, gesturing towards his bruise. He covered it up sheepishly and stared at the floor.

“I’m fine,” he turned away from me. I placed my hand on his shoulder, as if to reassure him.

“Are you sure you’re fine?” 

He paused a little.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“On the day we left for Hogwarts, my parents and I, we went to Diagon Alley to go to a shop first.”

I nodded intently.

“It was called Borgin and Burkes.”

I knew that shop. It was known for selling Dark artifacts, and for being a hub for Dark wizard activity during the First Wizarding War. And I knew that because my mother used to be a Death Eater, one of Voldemort’s followers.

(Don’t tell anyone.)

“Okay.”

“I don’t know what he was buying, but while he was looking around, I saw this really interesting skull. I walked towards it, and I touched it, I guess because I wanted to see whether it was a skull or not…”

“Mhmm.”

“And my father walks up from behind me and smacks my hand with the cane. It was so hard, my hand was all cut and bleeding. It’s healed by now, but the bruise is still there.”

“Oh, no,” I said. I never had to choose my words carefully with Draco, because he was a close friend, always. And I knew his struggle firsthand; I never wanted anyone’s pity when I told them about parental abuse, so I wasn’t going to give any to Draco. “You’re be strong enough to withstand it. Plus, your father isn’t around you all the time anymore, so you’ll have greater freedom here. Do you want me to heal it for you?”

He looked up at me timidly. “Could you do it without anyone noticing?”

I smiled. “I won’t say a word.”

I kept my promise. By pressing the tip of my wand lightly onto his bruise, I used my special skill of nonverbal incantations to heal it without having to say “Episkey.” The bruise had completely disappeared.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He stared at his hand, turned it over once. It was entirely normal.

“Does it still hurt?” I hoped I didn’t mess up. I didn’t have too much experience in nonverbal incantations.

“No, not at all.”

“Whew. I thought I messed up, I got worried for a sec.”

“No, you did it perfectly. Th-thank you. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to do Snape’s homework today, with my hand like that.”

“Anytime, Draco.” I beamed. I was glad. 

* * *

After I bid good-bye to Draco, I found Harry and Ron waiting for me at the other exit. They had concerned looks on their faces.

“Lumi, we are staging an intervention,” Ron folded his arms. 

Harry nodded, though he seemed a bit hesitant.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“We’ve noticed that you’re talking to Draco way too much,” Ron said. His tone was commanding, almost scary. But there was no way I could let Ron, of all people, who was my friend, boss me around.

“On second thought, Ron,” Harry quickly interjected, “Maybe we should just let her be friends with whomever she -”

“Maybe you didn’t see that he called me poor on our first day,” Ron stiffened. “Or just today, when he was shaking with laughter at Harry when Snape humiliated him.”

I was adamant with my opinion. I knew Draco to be a good guy, and they definitely didn’t know as much about him as I did. “I mean, you guys haven’t talked to him as much as I have, though. He was my first friend from Hogwarts, you know. I first spoke to him at the Leaky Cauldron, and I found out that we have so many things in common. He’s a cool guy, and I’m going to stay friends with him. That’s not going to change.”

“Well, I hope that calling some wizarding families ‘better’ than others isn’t one of the things you have in common!” Ron’s expression turned to that of hurt, offense. I didn’t mean it that way, though. I felt just as great around him and Harry as I did around Draco, and I didn’t want that to change either. 

Just when I was about to speak, Ron stormed off, dragging Harry behind him, leaving me in the dust.

* * *

I was chewing my nails to their maximum (nervous habit) and then spraying them with Nail-Gro and then chewing them again that day. I couldn’t stop thinking about how my exchange with Ron and Harry couldn’t have gone worse. I should’ve acknowledged their hatred towards them. It wasn’t unfounded. Draco had said some horribly mean things to them. But unlike them, I knew that Draco wasn’t racist or a terrible person, and that his words were a product of his father’s. It wasn’t all his fault.

But then it wasn’t Ron’s, or Harry’s, either.

Over the course of the next couple of days, I caught Ron nastily staring my way, then averting his gaze when we met eye contact. I avoided them both in both the Great Hall and in the common room; instead of going there, fearing what response I might get from the two, I always went up to my room to study with the other girls, who didn’t hate my guts. Harry would talk to me when Ron wasn’t around, until Ron arrived, and then he’d look at Ron and then stop talking to me. I knew Harry hated Draco with a passion, but I was thankful that he wanted to give me a chance.

Throughout that entire ordeal, however, I didn’t stop talking to Draco. It was just too much fun to stop talking to him just because of Ron, though it made my heart ache. 

One day, a notice posted on the wall of the Gryffindor Common Room alerted every first-year that flying lessons were starting in just a few days, every other day at 3:30 in the afternoon. I didn’t know whether to groan or to jump with joy, because we were working with the Slytherins.

Next to me, I heard Harry utter darkly, “Just great. Another way to make a fool of myself in front of everyone.”

Ron said, just loud enough for me to hear, “You don’t know that you’ll make a fool of yourself. Anyway, I know  _ Malfoy’s _ always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that’s all talk.”

I pretended not to hear.

I was prepared for the first flying class, because I knew it would just be the basics (saying “Up!” and perhaps zipping around a bit), and we wouldn’t be actually playing Quidditch for a long time.

When it finally rolled around, I stood next to Lavender Brown and Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin who almost seemed to have a crush on Draco. She was always egging him on, I noticed. We were all in the courtyard that day, with the open sky.

Across from me stood Harry and Ron, who was very conveniently trying not to make eye contact with me.

Madam Hooch, who was in charge of all Quidditch-related activities at the school, was a medium-heighted lady with eyes literally tinted gold. They reminded me of a hawk’s eyes.

“Now, put your hand over your broom, and say ‘Up!’” she instructed all of us.

It was so easy that I didn’t need to actually say “Up” to get my broom to fly into my hand on the first try, and I could see that Harry was having absolutely no trouble at all. Ron, on the other hand…

“Up!” he said, and the broom did indeed fly upwards, just not into his hand. It smacked him straight in the face. Harry laughed a little, to which Ron responded, “Oh, shut up.” I had to hold in my laughter, too, because I knew that we were supposed to be mad at each other.

By the time everyone had their brooms in their hands, Madam Hooch said, “When I blow the whistle, I want all of you to kick off from the ground, hard. Three, two -”

Neville Longbottom, always the most clumsy one of us all, must’ve been so nervous that he kicked off at the wrong time. The broom sent him spiraling up the air, spinning at rates that would’ve made me vomit… he was at ten, twenty feet until he slid off his broom and fell flat onto the ground. There was a very painful-sounding crack as he landed. 

Madam Hooch ran over to him and cradled his wrist, which looked broken. “Tsk tsk,” she said. “Broken wrist. All of you stay put while I bring him to the hospital wing.”

Madam Hooch led him away from the rest of us.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Draco roared with laughter. I winced. This was exactly why Ron was so set on reprimanding me as Draco’s friend.

“Did you see his face, the great lump?”

I walked over to him and whispered, “Draco, you can’t say that.”

“Yeah, I can. I can say whatever I want. Hey, look!”

There was something shining in the grass. It was Neville’s Remembrall. I dove for it before Draco could get it. 

“Don’t take what isn’t yours, Draco,” I said. He looked me up and down, but all trace of our kinship from before had gone. He wrestled it away from me, and I prepared to go on my broom. I could almost see what he was going to do next. 

Harry stepped in right then and there. “Give that here, Malfoy.”

Draco sneered in a nasty way that I never seen him do before. “I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find - how bout up a tree?” Without warning, he took off on his broom and flew to the highest trunks of a tree, the Remembrall still in his hand. Despite Hermione Granger’s warnings, I went in after him.

“Draco, please!” I begged him. It was almost as if he were a different person. In the corner of my eye, I could see Harry flying up too, incensed by Draco’s actions. 

“If you want it so bad, why don’t you come and get it?” Draco threw the Remembrall high in the air and then flew back to the safety of the flat ground. 

Harry’s and my mind seemed to be in sync. I was able to retrieve the Remembrall in midair, but I was rushing to the ground so fast that there’d be no way I could stop my momentum. Inexplicably, I knew that Harry would be there to catch the object as soon as I threw it up, right before I made contact with the ground. I jumped off the broom right before it crashed into the ground so hard that it split in half, and I tumbled onto the soft green grass. I don’t remember anything after that.

* * *

When I woke up, I heard Ron and Harry talking excitedly about some sort of Quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

They fell silent when they saw me open my eyes.

“Hey, guys,” I said, to break the awkward silence.

“Are you feeling OK?” Ron asked. He had a guilty expression on his face.

“Never better,” I smiled, and got up a little too fast. My vision filled up with black dots.

“Lumi, we’ve got good news,” Harry said, grinning. “I talked with McGonagall after what happened yesterday. She wants to make you Chaser of the team, and I’m Seeker!” 

“Really?!” I was certain that Harry and I would get into trouble because of what we did. “We didn’t get detention?”

Harry shook his head no, and Ron was smiling. He was happy for the both of us. And I felt happy, too. “But I thought first-years weren’t able to join their House teams!”

“You guys were so good that McGonagall wanted to put you both in,” Ron said. “I mean, did you see you guys? You were both so in sync, it was like Harry knew exactly the moment that you were going to throw the Remembrall. It was bloody incredible!”

We shared a hearty laugh, then there was another awkward silence.

“And, I’m really sorry for what happened before,” Ron muttered, staring at the ground. “That was a really noble thing to do. But-”

“But what?” I asked.

“We’re going to show you how terrible of a person Malfoy is,” Ron said righteously. Harry facepalmed. “Even if you can’t see it now.”

“I thought we were -” I paused. I didn’t want to instigate another disagreement, especially after this one had ended so well. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how Draco had completely switched up on me during the ordeal with Neville. I was almost hurt by it. “OK, fine. Try me.”

* * *

Harry, Ron, and I sat at the Gryffindor table later that day, feasting heavily on Cauldron Cakes, when Fred and George approached us.

“Congrats, guys,” said George.

“Wood told us about your positions on the House team,” Fred continued in a low voice.

“We’re on it, too, we’re Beaters,” said George. 

“Nice,” I said. “When’s the first practice?”

“Season’ll start in a few weeks, so next week, I imagine,” Fred said. “We’ve gotta be good this year, or else we’ll be beat by Slytherin.”

“That game was _ horrendous _ ,” agreed George. “Anyway, we’ve got to go. Lee Jordan reckons he’s found a new secret passageway into the school.”

They left abruptly before Draco and his friends Crabbe and Goyle showed up.

“Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?” It was always a pain to see him be mean to my friends when I knew where all the hate was coming from. I sincerely just wanted to help him. 

“Draco -” I started, but Harry interjected, his burning hatred very visible through his expression. I buried my face in my hands.

“You’re a lot braver now that you’re back on the ground and you’ve got your little friends with you,” he said. 

Then, Draco challenged him to a wizard duel at midnight in the trophy room. I groaned. 

“Guys, that is such a bad idea,” I said. But of course, no one listened. Then Ron went and made himself Harry’s second. Draco slinked away after pretending I didn’t exist. 

“What’s a wizard’s duel?” asked Harry. I’d forgotten that he was raised by Muggles.

“Technically, you’re supposed to try to kill each other, and seconds are for if one of you dies,” I explained, exasperated. “Obviously, you can’t really kill each other yet, but I have to say, this is the worst idea I’ve heard in my entire life. You can’t settle your differences by throwing sparks at each other!” 

“Oh, there’ll be no ‘settling’ here,” Ron cracked his knuckles. “We’re just going to beat him up.”

I rolled my eyes, and then suddenly Hermione appeared. Apparently, she’d overheard our chat with Draco.

“Can’t a person eat in this place?” Ron sighed. 

Hermione turned to Harry instead, ignoring Ron. “You  _ mustn’t _ go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you’ll lose Gryffindor if you’re caught, and you’re bound to be. It’s really very selfish of you.”

“And it’s really none of your business,” said Harry.

“Good-bye,” said Ron.

* * *

In the Gryffindor Common Room, I gave Harry light advice on how to duel someone without hurting them.

“The Disarming Spell is done with the incantation ‘Expelliarmus,’” I said, standing up and holding my wand out with my right hand. “Try it on me.”

“Expelliarmus!” Harry missed completely, instead hitting my wrist, which stung a little, but I let him try it again and again until he’d gotten it, and finally, I felt my wand fly out of my hand. Thankfully, the durable little thing didn’t break.

“Blimey, Harry, you’re a prodigy!” Ron exclaimed after Harry’s tenth attempt to Disarm me. I laughed, because I knew the spell like the back of my hand, but I wanted to encourage them.

Soon, it was half past eleven, and Ron said that he and Harry would start heading to the trophy room.

“No, I’m going with you,” I said adamantly.

“There’s no need,” Ron started to get up, and I got up as well. 

“I need to make sure that no one gets hurt,” I said. “You know I’m experienced in these sorts of things. I can heal you both if you need it, or something -”

“Okay, you can come,” Harry said, and all three of us were about to creep out of the common room through the Fat Lady painting when we were blocked by Hermione Granger, who reprimanded us for “sneaking around” again. 

“Don’t you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don’t want Slytherin to win the house cup, and you’ll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells.”

“Go away,” I said.

“All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you’re on the train home tomorrow, you’re so —”

Hermione had foolishly followed us outside of the common room. The painting of the Fat Lady swung shut, and she wasn’t there - probably gone to visit the other paintings.

“Now what am I to do?” she shrieked.

“Not our problem,” Harry said, before all three of us continued down the staircase to the trophy room. Hermione caught up with us and decided she was going to come.

All the way down, Hermione kept squabbling over how this idea was stupid (which I silently agreed with) and how we’d lose all of Gryffindor’s points. When we reached the trophy room, Draco wasn’t there. I let out a sigh of relief, because I didn’t want anyone to be fighting.

My relief drained out of my face when I heard Mr. Filch, the old, crabby janitor, in the corridor outside the room, saying, “Sniff around, my sweet. They might be lurking in the corner.”

He was talking to Mrs. Norris, his incredibly keen, red-eyed cat.

I grabbed Harry’s hand and yanked him out of the room, with Hermione and Ron following suit. We were running as fast and as quietly as we possibly could back to the tower. 

_ Draco must’ve ratted you out, _ I told Harry telepathically, and he nodded grimly. I could tell he was feeling incredibly stupid for falling for Draco’s trick.

We were about to safely reach Gryffindor’s common room before the staircase we were on turned suddenly and led us from the safety of our dormitories to an unknown, sinister-looking wooden door. 

“What kind of rotten luck is this!” Ron complained, but we had no choice but to press forward or get caught by Filch. The door was locked, but it wasn’t much of an obstacle.

“Alohomora!” I whispered, and the lock fell right open. Hermione looked on approvingly.

“You got that from page 64 in  _ Standard Book of Spells, Level One,  _ didn’t you?”

“Sure,” I said, (I had never even opened that book) opening the door and finding myself in a corridor: the forbidden third-floor corridor. And, now I knew, there was a good reason why it was forbidden, because in front of me sat a very, very large dog.

I don’t mean Great Dane sized. I mean ceiling-sized.

And it had three heads.

And three pairs of very angry eyes. 

And a mean snarl to go along with it.

No one made a sound. I was paralyzed.

Harry opened the door and we almost fell backwards pushing each other to get through it. All of us had safely left the corridor by the time one of the dog’s heads reached to where we were just a few moments ago and snapped its powerful jaws. It took all four of us to re-close the door and lock it again, and after that, we flew down the stairs, barely giving a damn whether Filch was behind us or not. Our primary goal for that moment was to get away from the monster as quickly as possible. It was astonishing how terrible at cardio I usually was, but when placed in a situation like this, I didn’t stop running until we got to the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Where on earth have you all been?” she asked, surprised when she saw our sweaty, flustered faces.

No one said anything - we were all just trying to catch our breath. “Pig snout,” Hermione said, and we were all able to go back through.

When we got back to the Common Room, I collapsed on the soft red carpet, breathing heavily. No one said anything for a while, and I honestly didn’t blame them.

“What -” Ron panted. “Why is that thing there in our  _ school _ ?”

“If you had eyes, you’d see that it was guarding something,” Hermione snapped, her lovely terrible temper returned. She got up. “I hope you’re pleased with yourselves. We could’ve gotten ourselves killed - or worse,  _ expelled. _ ”

She marched back to her dorm.

“What a mood-killer,” I muttered.

“Hey, I think I know what it’s protecting,” Harry mused, staring up at the lonely chandelier on the ceiling. He was lying flat on his back. “When I went to get money from Gringotts with Hagrid, he picked something up from Vault 713. A small package. And he said that there wasn’t a safer place than Gringotts - except for maybe Hogwarts.”

“So you think that that dog was guarding whatever Hagrid took out of that vault?” Ron questioned.

“I think that’s a good guess,” Harry said. 

That was a pretty smart supposition. But what in the world needed that much protection? What in the world could be that precious?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I honestly thought I was finished with the near-death experiences at Hogwarts, but I guess not.

At breakfast the following day, twelve screech owls came carrying two very long parcels. Right after they dropped the parcels in front of me and Harry, another two owls dropped letters in front of us at the very same time.

_ Think it’s about Quidditch? _ I sent him a telepathic message. He shrugged, and opened the letter first. I opened the parcel first, but when I saw the wood sticking out at the end, labeled in gold with the words Nimbus Two Thousand, I knew exactly what it was, and I knew I didn’t want a horde of people wanting to take a look at the broom. I closed the wrapping again quietly and opened the letter. Luckily, no one noticed.

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE. 

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don’t want everybody knowing you’ve got a broomstick or they’ll all want one. Harry will have an introduction to Quidditch today evening, but I assume this is not necessary for you. I shall expect to see you next Tuesday at 7 o’clock for team practices three times a week.

_ Professor McGonagall  _

“WHOA!” Ron, never one to keep to himself, read along with my letter and stared up at me in wonder. “A Nimbus Two Thousand!” 

He ran his fingers over the parcel, as if imagining what it looked like.

“I’ve never even touched one,” he said enviously. After Harry and I gobbled up our breakfast as quickly as we could so we could open the parcels sooner, we ran outside and tore them open. Ron and Harry left promptly to go to the Gryffindor Common Room and admire it in privacy. I was about to have a class, so they left me alone to go up to the girls’ dormitory by myself.

In the corner of my eye, I could see Draco approaching me. He was alone.

“Hey, Draco,” I stiffened up. I wasn’t going to forgive him for the injury he’d caused me to have just a day prior. 

He seemed really apologetic, though. “I just wanted to say -” 

“It’s fine,” I said coolly. “I mean, I could’ve died, but it’s fine.”

“I  _ know _ ,” he said. The look on his face turned into genuine worry. “I think - I know you’re a good person and that you’d want to do things for other people.” He paused. “Even if it’s for that clumsy oaf Longbottom.”

“What’s your point?” I asked, a bit harshly. Maybe I was being too hard on him. I could see authenticity in his face. 

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. That’s it.” He turned away, thoroughly embarrassed. I could tell he wasn’t used to apologizing for his actions. Neither was I, growing up, and I still have trouble with it. I used to think that everything I did was justified, well thought out, perfect, in a way. And how could Draco not think the same way? He had grown up in almost the same environment I had. I knew exactly where he was coming from. 

“OK.” I said, giving the smallest hint of a smile. He wasn’t completely off the hook, but I found myself predisposed to forgiving him. Even with that, though, I still found myself wondering why he was so different around me privately than with Harry and Ron. No, but it was wrong to ask him, because then we’d have another disagreement, and I didn’t want that -

“Fine,” I said, casting my doubts and further questions aside in the name of friendship. “You’re forgiven. But please, please try to be nice to Harry and Ron.”

His face transformed from one genuine remorse into one of smugness. “God, Westerlund. Your biggest flaw is that you’re too  _ good _ .”

* * *

I was in the library for the rest of that night. I’d finished my homework early and felt prepared as ever for tomorrow’s Herbology test, so I was researching the source of my link with Harry. We hadn’t talked much about it, but it was kind of awkward. We certainly never talked about it with Ron, who would usually be disappointed that he wasn’t included in this skill. Poor Ron. He was rarely included with us in the first place, what with Harry’s and my fame and Quidditch. 

Even when I was alone with Harry, I never really approached the topic. What could I say, “Hey, let’s talk about  _ how we can talk inside our heads? _ ” It was just too awkward, so I was forced to do research alone. And plus, given all he had seen in the wizarding world after coming from the Muggle world, Harry was just about ready to take any new thing as truth. He didn’t know how extraordinary something like this was.

When I opened the book  _ Magic of the Mind, Volume II _ , something caught my eye. It read  **Empathetic Links.**

_ An Empathetic Link is a very special, rare type of bond that can only occur between two wizards. It is formed in a manner not yet known to wizardkind, when the minds of two wizards are linked via an extraordinarily powerful event. It allows wizards to communicate telepathically, and feel each other’s pain in certain circumstances. Wizards connected via an empathetic link often have synchronized movements and make similar decisions.  _

_ However, the effect of the severing of an Empathetic Link (the only known way this happens is through the death of one of the linked) is very nebulous at this time. Mages have estimated that this may result in severe mental health effects, such as prolonged depression, anxiety, self-harm, inability to do magic, and even death. _

I was alone in the library, and thank goodness, because I spilled my glass of water right then and there. I was able to evaporate it easily with my wand, but there was no recovering the black text, made from ink, after the water had gotten all over it. I cursed my terrible luck.

I wondered what in the world I was supposed to do now. I didn’t want to spend my life feeling Harry’s pain - I recalled that searing pain on my skin, in the exact same spot where Harry’s was on his own forehead. And I didn’t want to live my life dependent on someone else’s life for fear of depression and self-harm and a bundle of other negative mental health effects. But I guessed that if Harry ever died, God forbid, I’d be so sad that I’d probably feel depression and anxiety and maybe even an inability to do magic anyway.

* * *

One day, we were all getting our Transfiguration tests back, and I had gotten a perfect score. Draco, the nosy butt he was, looked over at my score and groaned.

“Lumi, you’ve ruined the curve,” he complained. I took quick glances at everyone’s exams around me. They hadn’t received stellar marks, and given McGonagall’s grading policy, I knew that Draco was probably right.

“Well, I’m  _ so-rry  _ I’m decent at the inner workings of turning a rat into a vase.”

He sulked for the rest of the period, but I could tell he wasn’t actually offended. He was happy for me, even though he’d gotten a sub-par grade.

“Seriously, Westerlund, you’ve got to show me how you do so well on McGonagall’s exams.” 

“I mean, I could teach you,” I said, half-jokingly.

“D’you mean it?” His eyes were sincere, and he was excited to show Hermione Granger a thing or two, I suppose. “Meet me Tuesday in the library after dinner.”

“Are you sure? I’m a pretty tough teacher.” I cracked my knuckles for emphasis.

“Not nearly as tough as I am,” he said, putting on a comically nasty face. I laughed.

“See you there, then, Mr. Tough.”

* * *

I was glad I’d gotten into the good graces of Professor McGonagall, because after we’d all gotten our tests back, I intended to know what an Empathetic Link was. If she didn’t know, then I’d have to get information from Dumbledore himself, who I had never seen outside of the Great Hall when everyone gathered to eat.

“Professor McGonagall,” I said when everyone was filing out of the room. I waved goodbye to Draco.

She looked up, her half-moon glasses glinting in the sunlight through the windows. “Yes, Miss Westerlund?”

“I was wondering… if you knew anything about Empathetic Links,” I said. No point in mincing words.

“Empathetic Links?” she frowned. She clearly didn’t know much about them. “I’m afraid I don’t know very much about them, just that they are very powerful mental links forged between wizards.”

“Oh,” I looked down. I’d forgotten that I’d have to explain to her where this question was coming from. 

Luckily, she didn’t ask. “If you wished to know more about them, I would suggest talking to Professor Snape,” she said, writing away on some parchment at her desk. “I know for a fact that he’s very experienced in mental magic.”

Professor Snape? I gulped. It was clear that as soon as I was moved away from Draco by some unfortunate chance, he saw me as some foul creature. The only kids in Potions that he liked were the Slytherins, which was pretty biased, but I was always too petrified to protest against his unfair point deductions from Gryffindor or the terribly painstaking way he analyzed my cauldron when I worked with Harry, Ron, or Hermione. I tried as hard as I could in the class, but every time I opened my mouth to speak, I was wrong, and the only thing I did well in were tests (most of the time.)

But I needed to know what this inexplicable Empathetic Link thing was. I had to figure out how to break it. For Harry’s safety and my own.

* * *

When Draco and I arrived at the library, we were almost immediately yelled at by Percy (“I would’ve thought you’d know better than to do magic in the library when it’s off-limits, Westerlund.”) But since Transfiguration was more action than study, we couldn’t stay in the library.

“Oh no,” I said, a worried look on my face.“We won’t be able to practice the actual spells if we stay here.”

“I know just the place,” he abruptly walked out of the library and led me out in the hall. I followed suit, not having any idea where we were going. I passed by Neville Longbottom, who was on his way back from the hospital wing.

“Thanks for getting my Remembrall back, Lumi,” he said. Say what you will about Neville, but he’s always been the sweetest and clumsiest friend I have. “I heard what happened. I really didn’t mean for you to get hurt, I-”

“Neville, it’s really no problem at all. That’s what friends do, isn’t it? Stand up for each other?” 

I gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and his eyes sparkled in admiration.

Draco was waiting for me down the hall, but he didn’t say anything about me talking to Neville or even being friends with him. We just silently kept walking forward, down the twists and turns and invisible doors, until we reached a small room at a hidden corner of the fifth floor corridor.

He looked up at me excitedly. “I found this room during my first week here, and…”

Then he went on some story about escaping a werewolf that was chasing him through the halls, and how he had hid in this room to escape. It gave me terrible memories about the three headed dog. 

I knew he probably had just found the room by chance, maybe just during his walk from Charms to Flying, but I still listened and acted like I believed him just to indulge him. It was funny, in a way, how much he exaggerated the whole story. 

It was already half past seven when we were done talking. Luckily, Draco’s hidden room was secluded, and no teachers swooped in on us for talking for an hour and a half straight.

“All right,” I said, straightening up. “We need to do actual work now.”

Draco agreed, and we both got out of our seats. I reached in my small knapsack and pulled out a feather. “So McGonagall wants us to turn this feather into a pen, right?”

Draco nodded.

“Well, the two most important aspects of Transfiguration are planning and focus. Focus is more important…”

After I began going on about the elaborate plan that we needed to envision in our mind’s eye before we turned a feather into a pen. We can’t just turn things into other things, I explained. We need to know everything in between.

“OK, now you try it,” I said. 

I watched Draco try in vain to turn the feather into a pen. Transfiguration is a largely mental branch of magic. Since I didn’t have the same telepathic powers with him as with Harry, my advice didn’t seem to be helping him, which was frustrating. 

“Are you focusing?” I asked out of both exasperation and concern. “Remember, focus is the most important -”

“I know, I know,” he dismissed. “And I  _ am  _ focusing!” His time was caustic, and I was a bit taken aback, though I kept silent. He didn’t say anything else. Just kept trying to turn the stupid feather into a pen to no avail.

* * *

I was having a field day in Charms class, when Professor Flitwick was teaching all of us the Levitation Spell,  _ Wingardium Leviosa. _ I got mine on the first try, much to the delight of Professor Flitwick, and was helping Harry with his, but I couldn’t help but laugh at Ron’s interaction with Hermione.

Ron was having quite a bit of trouble with his, and Hermione decided to step in.

“It’s levi- _ oh _ -sa, not levio- _ sah _ ,” Hermione said impatiently. 

“Well, if you’re such an expert, then why don’t  _ you _ do it?” Ron snapped.

Hermione cleared her throat. “ _ Wingardium leviosa _ !” The feather on her desk gently floated upwards with the direction of her wand, and Professor Flitwick looked on in joy, saying, “Miss Granger’s done it!”

Ron looked very sullen for the rest of that class.

* * *

As we walked together to our next class, Ron was clearly in a foul mood. “‘ _ It’s levi-oh-sa, not levio-sah. _ ’ It’s no wonder no one can stand her. She’s a nightmare, honestly.” 

Someone familiar bumped into me as she jostled her way through the crowd. It was Hermione, and she was crying. She quickly dashed away.

“She definitely heard you,” I said.

Ron was slightly uncomfortable. “Must’ve noticed she hasn’t gotten any friends.”

Hermione went MIA for the rest of that afternoon, and I was quite concerned. As much as she annoyed me, she did save my Potions grade with her study guides, and she must’ve felt terrible if she’d missed class for Ron’s insult. 

“You guys seen Hermione around?” I asked the girls at the Gryffindor Great Hall table.

“I heard she was in the girls’ bathroom, crying,” Lavender answered worriedly. 

“Seriously?” I asked incredulously. “ _ All  _ afternoon?”

“She’s always been worried about what other people say about her,” said Parvati. 

“Oh no,” I didn’t want to leave Hermione on her own, because if there was anything she needed, it was probably comfort from someone else. “I’ll go and check on her -”

“That’s probably not a good idea, she said she didn’t want to talk to anyone,” Lavender admonished me. 

“Worst thing that’ll happen is she’ll say she doesn’t want to talk, and I’ll leave,” I said, getting up. “You never know.”

When I got to the girls’ bathroom, I saw Hermione walk out of a stall, half asleep from crying, her eyes red, arms limp from sadness. It was truly a sorry sight.

“Hey, Hermione,” I walked up to her, not expecting much of a welcome. She turned around, and, lo and behold, she didn’t say anything. Just stared.

“Hermione, I’m really sorry. I know I -”

“Lumi, look.”

She was openmouthed, and pointing at something above me. “Huh?”

That’s when I saw the fully grown mountain troll, looking like everything I’d seen in the pictures: it had a bald head, saggy face, and disgusting green skin covered in whiskers and hair at uneven intervals. It dragged a thick wooden club along the floor, because its arms were too long.

What in the world was the deal with me encountering things I never wanted to see in my life?

I quickly jumped to the side (and just in time, too) before the troll raised its club and struck the ground I had been standing on just a second ago. In its sheer effort to kill me, it had destroyed several sinks in the bathroom and left a huge dent on the floor where its club met the tiles.

“ _ Praesidio! _ ” I shouted. It was the Shield Charm, and it cast a hazy, metallic, silver shield around my and Hermione’s corner of the bathroom. I knew that the Shield Charm strengthened if the person I shielded (besides myself) had a strong bond with me, and I knew Hermione and I weren’t exactly on good terms. The shield could break at any moment - I needed a backup plan. 

“Um-um…” My brain was turning to mush, and I felt like my IQ had fallen about 200 points. And on top of that, my magical energy was sapping, because I was focusing too much on keeping the shield strong. All I could think of were destructive spells like  _ bombarda maxima _ , which would’ve effectively destroyed the entire bathroom as well as the troll, or  _ incendio magnus _ , which would’ve effectively burned this room and the surrounding five rooms, or  _ avada kedavra,  _ which I knew I should never use on anyone. All the while, the troll was pounding on the shield with its titanic club, and I could see it tearing more and more with every blow. Each blow came with a thunderous, ear-splitting roar that gave me a small headache.

Finally, I said, “ _ Immobulus! _ ” The troll was frozen in place, completely still. But given its size and that I had only ever practiced the spell on small beings, I knew it wouldn’t be for long. 

Its club dropped out of its hands and onto the floor.

In that instant, Harry and Ron came bursting into the bathroom - they must’ve realized that Hermione had been here and came running. 

Now that my attention on the troll was a little more relaxed, my brain started functioning again, but I didn’t have much energy.

“Well?” I demanded, a threatening look crossing my face. “You know what to do!” The troll had snapped out of it and, confused, was reaching towards its club.

Promptly, Ron said, “ _ Wingardium leviosa!” _ The club floated out of the troll’s hands and, at the very top of its ascent, fell right back on the head of its owner. The great troll stood there for a second before swaying a little and falling right on its back, landing on the floor with an incredibly loud thud.

No one said anything for a while. I panted as if I’d just run a mile.

“Is it - dead?” Hermione squeaked.

“I don’t think so,” Harry said reasonably. “Stunned, more like.”

All of us were interrupted by a sudden movement of boots and the loud slamming of the bathroom doors. I could see Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell file into the room in succession. Quirrell saw the stunned troll on the ground and fell back, faint.

“What on earth were you thinking of?” yelled McGonagall. Her eyes, filled with controlled rage, darted between me and Harry and Ron and Hermione and back again. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed. Why weren’t you in your dormitories?”

As with all confrontational encounters with teachers, I didn’t say a word.

Then I heard Hermione’s small voice: “Please, Professor McGonagall - they were looking for me.”

“Miss Granger!” Our Transfiguration teacher was just as surprised as we were. 

“I went looking for the troll because I — I thought I could deal with it on my own — you know, because I’ve read all about them.”

Yoink! Was Hermione Granger, the biggest teacher’s pet everyone knew, really telling her a blatant lie?

“It’s really only because Lumi knew a few incredible spells, and that Ron and Harry came at the right place and the right time, that I’m still alive,” Hermione said very matter-of-factly.

Professor McGonagall wasn’t entirely buying it, given that Hermione was one of the most level-headed, studious, prudent kids in our year, but she let her go with only five points taken from Gryffindor. 

Harry, Ron, and I stayed in the bathroom after Hermione had left.

Professor McGonagall turned to us and said, “You were all very lucky tonight - not many first-year students could take on a fully-grown mountain troll and lived to tell the tale. You are each awarded five points to Gryffindor. You may leave.”

“Wish we got more points,” Ron grumbled as we walked up the staircase to the Gryffindor Common Room. “Nice of her to get us out of trouble like that, though.”

I could tell that he was regretting saying all those things about her just a few hours earlier.

When we saw Hermione in the Gryffindor Common Room that night, she just said a small “thanks” and retreated back to her room to study, but I thought she was cool from that moment on. I suppose you could say I thought of her as a friend.

Of course, everyone had already somehow heard about our exploits with the troll, so I lavished in that attention for the rest of that Halloween night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavender's idea of a girls' night out needs some serious fixing.

I was re-reading my History of Magic notes in preparation for my exam next week, and the weekend was about to begin. In the corner of my eye I noticed that Lavender Brown had been staring at me quite intently for a couple of minutes. 

Wanting to break that awkwardness, I turned towards her. “What’s up?”

“Lumi, I’ve been thinking,” she slid closer to me. “What if we did something fun this weekend?”

I put my book down. “What do you mean by fun?” 

“I mean like going to Daphne Greengrass’ birthday celebration fun,” she said, a devilish look on her face. Daphne Greengrass was a popular sixth-year Slytherin whose parents owned a huge estate in Wales (I knew her because my parents were friends with her parents.) I’d gotten an invitation to her party - which would involve bedecking the entire Slytherin Common Room with decorations AND, very possibly, substances against the rules - and decided not to go, because I’d have to study all weekend. But Lavender and I were pretty close friends, and I wanted her to have the best experience in Hogwarts. 

“Um,” I said, torn. I didn’t want to get caught by Filch and lose fifty points for Gryffindor.

“Aw, come on,” Lavender said, pouting. “You got an invitation, right? And it said that you could take up to three people?”

“Well… everyone who’s going is a Slytherin, and technically they’re allowed to party in their common room, but if we’re caught sneaking around after curfew…”

“No, Daphne invited all the popular kids, whatever their House is!” Lavender protested. “Like you. And Cedric Diggory, who’s in Hufflepuff. And Roger Davies and Cho Chang, both Ravenclaws.”

I sighed. Clearly, Lavender knew her stuff, and wanted to go more than anything else. “Fine. But how do you know Parvati and Irina will be okay with it?”

“I’ll talk to them. They’re going to agree with me, I just know it.”

* * *

When Lavender talked to Irina and Parvati that night, Irina was completely for it (the poor girl wanted nothing more than to be popular), though Parvati was a bit reserved.

“Everyone there’s going to be a Slytherin,” she said reasonably. “We’re only first years, and we stand out. What if someone like Pansy Parkinson tries to mess with us?”

“Well, we have THE Lumi Westerlund with us, so we’ll be fine,” Lavender reassured her. “Lumi will stick with us. Right, Lumi?”

“Mhmm,” I said absentmindedly. I was busy looking at timelines of the 1378 Economic Crash of Britain and Gargoyle Strikes throughout the centuries. 

Parvati nodded, knowing that my status as a Westerlund, the most famous wizarding family in England and probably the world, would protect all of them. I hated it. Ultimately, though, Parvati agreed to go, knowing there was nothing for her to lose. I didn’t stop her.

* * *

The party, which was on a Saturday evening, was apparently so important to Lavender that she wanted us all to start dressing hours before the event.

I looked up from my history textbook, exasperated when Lavender kept bugging me for her opinion on her outfit (“you’re a model! You should know about this!”).

“Lavender, I’m a model, yes, but I don’t actually pick my own clothes.”

“Oh, whatever. Help me choose something!” 

Lavender was completely stuck between a terrible violet short dress and an equally horrid, frilly turquoise skirt.

“Lavender, I have to say…” I looked her up and down after she tried on both the dress and skirt. “I don’t see you in either.”

She slumped down in her chair, as if this were a fact she’d already known. “What am I going to do now?”

I had a good idea. My stylist at home had hand-picked a few nice dresses for me, all of which were gorgeous and  _ very  _ expensive. I was planning to wear a pretty short sleeved red party dress with a small bow on the front just below my left shoulder. It was frilled and the front of the dress was higher than the back portion. I had another stylish dress that was green but pulled it off magnificently. 

“I’ll lend you a dress,” I said, rummaging through my wardrobe and pulling out the green one. “Try it on.”

“Oh my gosh!” After she put it on, she stared at herself in the mirror. It was all I could do to not stare at her myself; she looked stunning. The dress was probably made for her.

“Definitely this one,” we said in unison. 

Parvati and Irina both made wise fashion choices, or at least in my eyes. Their light makeup gave them a stylish, elegant look; I just slapped on some bewitched eyeliner that was enchanted to draw on a perfect line on its own, and maybe some blush. I always hated when my stylist, who refused to let me go outside without wearing a specially-picked outfit, forced me to wear pounds and pounds of makeup before photo shoots.

The party was to start after curfew, so Lavender, Irina, Parvati, and I had to sneak around the dungeon halls in our noticeable party dresses without getting caught by Filch. When we finally reached the bare stretch of stone wall that provided the hidden entrance to the Slytherin Common Room, I tapped my wand on the wall. The invitation said to do that, and the passageway would open to the Room, even if we weren’t Slytherins.

Sure enough, the stones parted to make way for all of us, and we went through. Already we could hear the Weird Sisters and popular music from the Wizarding Wireless Network loudly playing in the Common Room, along with the loud chatter of the party. 

“Lumi Westerlund?” Susanna Melbourne, who turned out to be the popular second-year Hufflepuff who’d invaded my compartment on the Hogwarts Express, whirled around. She had been engaged in a lively conversation with Cedric Diggory, and suddenly she forgot he existed.

She rushed over to me. “Oh. My. God. I  _ love  _ your dress!”

She clapped her hands in delight. She reminded me of my aunt. Or my stylist. 

“Thanks, Susanna,” I smiled weakly. “Have you met my friends? Lavender -”

Lavender was already on it, and Susanna made sure to talk to Lavender and Irina, since they were associated with me. Parvati sat in the corner looking pissed, talking to one of the only other Gryffindors, Violetta Rubinstein. I saw almost no first years, and it turned out that Lavender was right. I recognized some of the most popular seventh-years in Hogwarts, as well as an assortment of unpopular and middle-of-the-road seventh years. It seemed that everyone who was younger, however, had to be popular to receive an invitation.

I saw Draco at the other side of the room, where he was talking to Pansy Parkinson. I tried to make my way to him before I was intercepted by Daphne Greengrass herself, and by her entourage, made up of four popular, pretty Slytherin girls who wouldn’t stop smiling.

“Lumi  _ Westerlund _ herself!” she laughed and beckoned Benjamin Caverly _ , _ a burly sixth-year who wasn’t invited for popularity, but for the sole purpose of taking pictures at the party. She dragged me away from Draco, where we all posed in front of a huge barren wall presumably meant for taking photos. 

“3, 2, 1!” Benjamin took the picture with a blinding white flash of light. Urgh. I’d been exposed to those lights for my entire life, but they never failed to disorient me a little for a few seconds after they flashed.

“Thanks for coming, babe,” Daphne said endearingly after giving me a small hug. “This is going to make for such a good photo.” I’d never talked to her before in my life before the party.

After that, I had to do so many introductions that I soon forgot the names of everyone I’d met, and I fell upon the chair across from Draco, discombobulated and exhausted already, even though it had only been 30 minutes.

“Feeling alright?” he questioned. 

“No, my head is killing me,” I murmured. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Liam Bryceworth appeared out of nowhere to talk to me. 

“Hey, Lumi,” he said, clearly trying his hardest to keep the swagger he had during the first day. “Want to -”

“Actually, she’s feeling kind of sick. I was about to take her to the bathroom,” Draco said, standing up very fast.

“What?” Liam’s eyes narrowed with skepticism. “Doesn’t seem to me she’s very sick.”

“Draco’s right, Liam,” I said, standing up as well. Draco wasn’t wrong. “I might have to step out for a little.”

“Alright, Lumi, I’ll be looking for you when you come back,” Liam said almost threateningly. He stalked away, clearly disappointed.

“Let’s go,” Draco said, and I didn’t disagree.

* * * 

We ended up in that small room again - the one where we practiced Transfiguration every Tuesday and spent the evenings talking until after curfew instead. 

But I was tired of sitting around and talking. I wanted to go outside instead, so I led Draco out of the building and onto the outdoor path that led into the lake. Luckily, the weather was warm for us that night, so we weren’t very cold despite me being in a party dress.

While we walked out into the moonlight, darkness scattered around us, I lit my wand with Lumos and performed a charm that gave the November leaves scattered on the ground of the path a soft golden glow. It was as if we were walking on the sun.

“How’d you do that?” Draco asked incredulously, picking up a leaf and examining it. All it maintained was the basic outline of its leaf, and the entire thing was ablaze with golden light. 

“I learned the charm at my aunt’s wedding,” I said. 

I still remember the ceremony, which was one of the most beautiful things I had ever witnessed in my entire life. It had only happened autumn of last year, so it was fresh in my mind: the wedding took place in the middle of the night with a crescent moon at a lonely hill. At the top of the hill was a small gazebo, which was bedecked with flowers and lit up by simple, yet beautiful, lanterns. I still remember my aunt, who looked like Aphrodite herself, walking calmly down the aisle, her dress dragging behind her. Leaves were scattered at her feet on the path she walked, and they were glowing gold, just thin leaves, but seemed more like leaf-shaped slices of soft light. Beside the seats were rows of small lanterns, which provided the only light source in the ceremony. And at the end, when the clock struck twelve, we all took lanterns and released them over an open field, and watched them float above and away. 

“It was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

Draco and I stared up at the moon, a glowing crescent hanging in the sky. As the cobblestone path gave way to grass as we neared the lake, the green blades tickled my feet. When I felt tired enough, I sat down on a large stone by the lake. Draco sat beside me.

As I looked forward at the vast expanse of water, blackened by the night and reflecting the white gleam of the moon, I was reminded of home.

“I’ve got a lake near my house like this,” said Draco, taking in the magnificent sight. “But it’s fake. My parents hired someone to dig it up and fill it with water.”

“Me, too,” I said. “‘Cept my parents never hired someone. The water filled up by itself.”

“D’you reckon someone made this lake, too?”

I thought about it. “No. I think whoever built Hogwarts must’ve been smart enough not to mess with the earth.”

“Good point.”

There was some silence. Never had I felt so at ease in my entire life.

“Draco, do you think someone built the moon?” I asked. The wind sifted through my hair.

“No,” he scoffed. “It’s just  _ there _ . Like the Earth and the Sun and all the other planets.”

“What about the trees?”

“Stop asking stupid questions.”

I giggled. 

I talked with Draco for so long that when the clock tower struck twelve, we both reluctantly got up to return to our dorms and get some sleep.

* * *

“Oh, that was a dream!” Lavender said the next day, ecstatic when she woke up. It was a Sunday, so there were no classes for us. “I made such good friends with Cho Chang and Susanna Melbourne.”

“Me, too!” Irina added. “ _ I  _ think Cedric Diggory likes me.”

“I reckon it wasn’t half bad,” Parvati said. Apparently, she’d forged a good connection with Violetta. “But Lumi, I didn’t see you for a long time. Where’d you go?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but I was interrupted by Irina. Her eyes sparkled with mischief when she said, “I saw her run off somewhere with Draco Malfoy.”

I rolled my eyes as Lavender and Parvati did a collective “ooh.”

“Guys, you know I wouldn’t get sidetracked by something stupid like boys,” I laughed.

“Ooh, but I know what I saw,” Irina said, sidling up to me. “And I saw you leave the party with Draco Malfoy, and you were gone for the rest of the night.”

“I mean, we’re friends, I guess -”

“I always thought he was a bit of a bully,” Parvati said, thinking of the time she’d stood up for Neville Longbottom and Draco sneered at her in response. “But you can go right ahead, Lumi, if that’s what you really want.”

“I always see him bad-mouthing Ron and Harry,” Lavender added. “Are you sure they wouldn’t be mad at you if they find out you had a crush on -”

“Idon’tfancyDracoMalfoy.” I said, my cheeks turning bright pink. It wasn’t that I had a crush on him, I was just unused to being backed into a corner like this. Luckily, I was able to change the topic quickly without them noticing, and the rest of the afternoon went smoothly.


End file.
